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 Up on the poop deck walking about

There is the second mate 

so sturdy and so stout 

What he is a-thinking of 

he doesn't know himself 

Wish that he would hurry up and strike

Strike the bell!

Strike the bell Second Mate, let us go below! 

Look away to windward 

you can see it's gonna blow 

Look at the glass, you can see it is fell 

We wish that you would hurry up

And strike - strike the bell!

Down in the engine room workin' at the pumps

Lefty's getting oily and he's looking for his bunk 

Cannot find the spanner

and he swears like Mary Hell

Wishing that the Second Mate would strike

strike the bell!

  Forward in the fo'c'sle head 

And keeping sharp lookout 

There is Johnny standing 

and a-longin' for to shout

"The lights' are burning bright, sir

everything is well"

He's wishing that the second mate

Would strike, strike the bell  

  Aft at the wheelhouse, there old Ozzy stands     Grasping at the helm 

with his frosty-bitten hands

Looking at the compass 

though the course is clear as Hell

He's wishing that the Second Mate would strike

Strike the Bell!

Aft on the quarterdeck our gallant Captain stands

Looking out to windward 

with a spyglass in his hand

What he is thinking of, we know very well     He's thinking more of shortening sail

Than striking the bell!

It's a damned tough life full of toil and strife

We whaler men undergo

And we don't give a damn when the gale is done

How hard the winds did blow

For we're homeward bound

from the Arctic ground

With a good ship taut and free

And we don't give a damn 

when we drink our rum

With the girls of Old Maui

Rolling down to Old Maui me boys

Rolling down to Old Maui

We're homeward bound from the Arctic ground

Rolling down to Old Maui

Once more we sail with a northerly gale

Through the ice and wind and rain

Them coconut fronds them tropical lands

We soon shall see again

Six hellish months we've passed away

On the cold Kamchatka Sea

But now we're bound from the Arctic ground

Rolling down to Old Maui.

Once more we sail with a northerly gale

Towards our island home

Our mainmast sprung our whaling done

And we ain't go far to roam.

Our stuns'l bones is carried away

What care we for that sound

A living gale is after us

Thank God we're homeward bound.

How soft the breeze through the island trees

Now the ice is far astern

Them native maids them tropical glades

Is a-waiting our return

Even now their big brown eyes look out

Hoping some fine day to see

Our baggy sails running 'fore the gales

Rolling down to Old Maui

This song was written by Tom Lewis.

To us, it sits with the other shanties perfectly.

We hope you agree...

My father often told me, when I was just a lad,

A sailor's life was very hard,

the food was always bad;

But now I've joined the navy, upon a man-o-war,

Now I find a sailor ain't a sailor any more!

You don't haul on the rope, 

You don't climb up the mast,

If you see a sailing ship, it might be your last;

Get your civvies ready for another run ashore,

A sailor ain't a sailor, ain't a sailor any more!

The 'killick' of our mess, he says we've had it soft,

Wasn't like this in his day,

 when he was up aloft;

We like our bunks and sleeping bags, 

but what's a hammock for?

Swinging from the deckhead, 

or lying on the floor?

They gave us an engine 

that first went up and down,

Then with more technology

the engine went around;

We're good with steam and diesel, 

but what's a mainyard for?

A stoker ain't a stoker with a shovel any more!

They gave us an Aldis Lamp, we can do it right,

They gave us a radio, we signal day and night;

We know our codes and ciphers, 

but what's a 'sema' for?

A 'bunting-tosser' that doesn't toss 

the bunting any more!

Two cans of beer a day, that's your bleeding lot!

But now we gets an extra one

because they stopped the tot;

So, we'll put on our civvy-clothes 

and find a pub ashore,

A sailor's still a sailor, just like he was before!

One Monday morning in the month of May

One Monday morning in the month of May

I thought I heard the old man say

The Rosabella sails today

I'm going on board the Rosabella

I'm going on board the Rosabella

I'm going on board, right down to board

The saucy Rosabella

She's a deep water ship with a deep water crew

She's a deep water ship with a deep water crew

You can stick to the coast 

but we're damned if we do

Aboard the Rosabella

All around Cape Horn in the month of May

All around Cape Horn in the month of May

All around Cape Horn it's a bloody long way

Aboard the Rosabella

Those Galway girls do make me grieve

Those Galway girls do make me grieve

They spent my money and made me leave

On board the Rosabella

One Monday morning in the month of May

One Monday morning in the month of May

I thought I heard the old man say

The Rosabella will sail today

Now we are ready to head for the Horn,

Way, hey, roll an' go!

Our boots and our clothes boys

are all in the pawn,

To be rollickin' randy dandy O!

Heave a pawl oh heave away! 

Way hey, roll and go!

The anchor's on board and the cable's all stored,

To be rollicking randy dandy-O!

Oh, man the stout caps'n an' heave with a will,

Way, hey, roll an' go!

Soon we'll be drivin' her 'way down the hill.

To be rollicking randy dandy-O!

Heave away, bullies, ye parish-rigged bums,

Way, hey, roll an' go!

Take yer hands from yer pockets

and don't suck yer thumbs

To be rollicking randy dandy-O!

We're outward bound for Valipo Bay,

Way, hey, roll an' go!

Get crackin', m' lads, 'tis a hell o' a way!

To be rollicking randy dandy-O!

We're sick of the shore and our money's all gone

So we signed on this packet to drive her along

It's goodbye to Sally now goodbye to Sue

And all of you other girls, farewell to you

I thought I heard the old man say
John Kanaka-naka too ri ay
Today today is a holiday
John Kanaka-naka too ri ay  

Too ri ay- oh- too ri ay

John Kanaka-naka too ri ay

We’ll work tomorrow but not today

John Kanaka-naka too ri ay

We’ll work tomorrow, we’ll earn our pay

John Kanaka-naka too ri ay

There’s rotten meat and there’s weevily bread John Kanaka-naka too ri ay
And pump or drown the old man said
John Kanaka-naka too ri ay 

We're bound away around Cape Horn
John Kanaka-naka too ri ay
We'll wish to God we'vdnever been born
John Kanaka-naka too ri ay

It's one more pull and that'll do

 John Kanaka-naka too ri ay 

For we're the bullies to pull her through

 John Kanaka-naka too ri ay

Farewell to Princes' landing stage 

River Mersey fare thee well

I am bound for California, 

a place I know right well

So fare thee well my own true love

When I return united we will be

It's not the leaving of Liverpool that grieves me

But my darling when I think of thee

I am bound for California 

by way of stormy Cape Horn

And I will write to thee a letter, love, 

when I am homeward bound

I have shipped on a Yankee clipper ship, 

"Davy Crockett" is her name

And Burgess is the captain of her 

and they say that she's a floating shame

I have sailed with Burgess once before

And I think I know him well

If a man's a sailor he will get along,

But if not then he's sure in Hell

Farewell to Lower Frederick Street,

Anson Terrace and Park Lane

I am bound away for to leave you

I may never see you again

'Twas a Friday morn when we set sail

And we were not far from the land

When the captain, he spied a lovely mermaid

With a comb and a glass in her hand

Then up spoke the captain of our gallant ship,

And a brave old man was he,

He said, "This fishy mermaid 

has warned me of our doom:

We shall sink to the bottom of the sea!"

And the ocean's waves may roll

And the stormy winds will blow

While we poor sailors go skipping to the top

And the landlubbers lie down 

below, below, below

And the landlubbers lie down below

And up spoke the mate of our gallant ship

And a well-spoken man was he

I have me a wife in Salem by the sea

And tonight she a widow will be 

And up spoke the cook of our gallant ship

And a nasty old butcher was he

Saying I care much more for my pots and pans

Than I do for the bottom of the sea 

Then up spoke the cabinboy of our gallant ship

A cheeky little lad was he

There's nary a soul in Salem Town 

Who cares a bit for me

Then three times around went our gallant ship

And three times around went she

Three times around went our gallant ship

And she sank to the bottom of the sea

A gentleman named Bob Watson 

penned this song a while back.

Blackstrap Yarnspinners has been trying to contact him in order to properly 

give him credit for this.

Seriously, if anyone knows how 

to contact him, please let us know...

Now modern ships carry mighty funny gear,

And away, get away, you shantyman.

Ain't seen a halyard in many a year,

And they got no use for a shantyman.

Slick new fittings are all your style,

And away, get away, you shantyman.

All very clever, but it just ain't right;

And they got no use for a shantyman.

Shantyman, oh, shantyman,

Who's got a berth for a shantyman?

Sing you a song of a world gone wrong,

When they got no use for a shantyman.

Levers to jerk and buttons to press

And real live sailors they need them less;

Pushing on the buttons and hauling on the levers

And they got no use for horny-handed heavers.

The cargo is stored in a polythene pack,

Raised and lowered by a dry bollock jack;

Floating computer dressed like a ship,

Skippered and crewed by a micro chip.

New-fangled gear's no use to you

When you're off Cape Horn

with your fuses blew;

Then's the time to curse the day

You sent your shantyman away.

A sailor's life it once was hard,

Laid out aloft on a tops'l yard;

Now it don't matter if the winds blow high;

You can take force ten with your feet still dry.

Listen at night and you might hear

A ghostly sound on the quiet air;

Is it a ghost from the distant past,

Or just a breeze on the radar mast?

What do you do with a drunken sailor

What do you do with a drunken sailor

What do you do with a drunken sailor

earleye in the morning?

Way hey and up - up he rises

Way hey and up - up he rises

Way hey and up - up he rises

earleye in the morning

Put  him in the longboat until he's sober

Put  him in the longboat until he's sober

Put  him in the longboat until he's sober

earleye in the morning

Shave his mm-hmm with a rusty razor

Shave his mm-hmm with a rusty razor

Shave his mm-hmm with a rusty razor

earleye in the morning

Put him in the bed with the Captain's daughter

Put him in the bed with the Captain's daughter

Put him in the bed with the Captain's daughter

earleye in the morning

I am the Captain's daughter

I am the Captain's daughter

I am the Captain's daughter

earleye in the morning